What never was

I knew her name

And I knew what it meant in her mother tongue.

I knew her beauty. The eloquent eyes, the exquisite lips, the purity of her skin, the rich, lustrous black hair. The rise of her cheekbones and proud set of her nose

I knew her shape. The body of a goddess, a model, a girl. A walking fantasy to turn heads.

I knew a little of her mind. I knew some of her hopes and fears. And I knew the dark fantasies she never shared with anyone.

I knew too there was a gulf between us that would never be bridged.

I knew when I had lost her. Before she had even found the words.

Yet it is not what was lost that leaves my heart so bruised and bare.

It is what might have been

and never was.